by Barb Hendee
Simone knew she’d hit the right mark. “It was awful. I couldn’t stop him, and afterward he said I would never fit into your world.”
“Philip said that?”
Eleisha seemed so surprised, Simone wondered whether she had pushed it too far.
But then Eleisha shook her head, and the sympathy in her voice increased. “I’m sorry, Simone. He’s just overprotective, and he was trying to make sure you weren’t a danger to the rest of us.” She leaned forward, her eyes intense. “But his body was so warm when he got back this morning, and he wouldn’t tell me what happened last night. . . . I’ve been wondering if he tried to take you hunting, to show you how to alter a memory.”
Simone felt an unwanted flash of rage over how Eleisha would know that Philip’s body had been warm that morning, but she kept her face politely distraught, as if she had suffered at his hands, and she mulled over the combination of the words “hunting” and “how to alter a memory.”
Afraid of making a mistake, she didn’t speak and simply nodded while looking at the tabletop.
“I thought so,” Eleisha said, sounding frustrated now. “Something went wrong, didn’t it?” She lowered her voice to an almost inaudible level. “He was so rattled this morning. Was anyone killed?”
These words caused only surprise and more confusion. Eleisha genuinely seemed to think that Philip would be upset by the death of a mortal. How was that possible? Eleisha was a vampire.
“I can’t talk about it,” Simone said. “Don’t ask me.”
Eleisha shook her head. “At least some of this is making sense now. It’s my fault. Philip never should have forced you to show him your memories, and he never should have tried to teach you to alter a memory this soon.” She leaned close enough to speak in Simone’s ear. “But he thought he was doing the right thing. Please don’t think badly of him.”
Rage kept on building inside Simone. Eleisha didn’t even know Philip. She didn’t know the first thing about him, and here she was begging Simone to think well of him? Any other woman would have clawed Eleisha’s eyes out by now. But Simone was not any other woman. She preferred to fight with a smile—just like her mother and her sisters.
“You came a long way to find me,” Simone said quietly. “Maybe you should tell me why.”
This was good. She’d safely established that Philip had told Eleisha nothing of the events that had taken place in Boulder, and Eleisha now believed that Philip had brutalized Simone in his attempt to explain their purpose in Denver.
They were beginning to build a bridge of trust.
Eleisha was quiet for a little while, and then said, “I know you left Maggie, and I think I know why.”
In her first unguarded moment since Eleisha walked through the Starbucks door, Simone asked, “Did Maggie send you here?”
“No . . . Maggie’s dead. I didn’t know how to answer you at the cafe.”
“Dead?”
Almost nothing Eleisha said made sense, but the thought of Maggie dead seemed beyond comprehension. Philip had shown her raw memories of Maggie only the night before. How could he not have told her Maggie was dead?
“I can tell you how it happened, but ...” Eleisha trailed off. “Can we go someplace else? This place is too bright and loud, and I have so much to tell you.”
Inwardly, Simone began to feel more confident. She had a plan . . . a good plan, if she could just keep Eleisha with her until morning, if she could just make Eleisha trust her.
So if Eleisha wanted to talk, Simone would certainly let her.
“There’s a bookstore down the street called the Tattered Cover. It’s huge, with nooks and crannies everywhere. We can find a little corner to ourselves.”
Eleisha stood up. “Okay.”
She didn’t seem quite so cautious anymore.
Mary materialized in the living room of the suite at the Brown Palace, knowing that Julian was going to blow a gasket and that she couldn’t even blame him.
“Is Jasper gone yet?” she asked immediately, looking around.
To her relief, Jasper was just pulling his coat on—to hide the sword strapped to his belt.
Julian was dressed in black slacks and a white shirt, but he wasn’t wearing shoes. His feet were large and pale. He crossed his arms.
“I was just giving him instructions. What’s wrong?”
She steeled herself. “Simone’s not at the house anymore. I checked at dusk, and she was there, so I went back to Eleisha’s hotel to make sure they weren’t on the move yet, and when I checked back, Simone was gone, and now Eleisha’s gone. I haven’t done a serious search of the city, but I wanted to catch you before Jasper left. Right now, I don’t know where they are.”
She could see Julian grinding his back teeth, but he didn’t explode.
“Find them,” he whispered.
Philip threw several twenties at the cab driver and jumped out onto High Street, running up the walkway to Simone’s house.
When he found the door locked, he kicked it open.
“Eleisha!”
All he could see was the sterile furniture and art.
“Eleisha!”
He searched every room, even after he realized she wasn’t there.
His throat was still constricted, and he couldn’t stop thinking of Simone’s determination to win the games she played. He’d allowed himself to be sucked right into one of her games. . . . He’d even instigated it.
And now Eleisha was alone with Simone.
In desperation, he pulled the phone from his coat pocket, flipped it open, and hit the button to dial Eleisha’s number. He knew she wouldn’t answer. He knew she’d probably even turned her phone off. But he had to try.
The line rang six times and connected to voice mail.
He closed his eyes and then closed the phone.
Just as he was slipping it back into his pocket, it began ringing loudly. He almost dropped it as his heart jumped. She was calling him! Relief flooded his mouth as he rushed to answer, and then he stopped at the name on the caller ID display.
UNDERGROUND.
That was Wade’s office phone.
Philip stood frozen, letting it ring. He couldn’t talk to Wade right now, not after he’d lost Eleisha. He had to find her first.
But he didn’t know where to look.
Eleisha found a carpeted spot on the floor between two bookshelves in the art section on the third floor, and she settled down across from Simone. There was nobody else in sight.
This felt so much like being with Maggie.
She had to remind herself that Simone was not Maggie and that she needed to focus on her purpose here. There was so much to tell Simone . . . whose impression of the underground must be negatively skewed.
But at least Eleisha was gaining some idea of what Philip had done, first by forcing Simone to expose her memories and then by trying to teach her the first law through a hunting exercise. Why had he been in such a hurry? She could only think he’d done these things out of fear for Wade, that he wanted to make sure Simone was following the first law before bringing her home to the church.
But something must have gone horribly wrong during the hunt, and she wished she knew what had taken place. It would help her proceed here.
Regardless, Philip had inadvertently caused some damage, and she had to find a way to fix it.
Where should she begin?
“Let me tell you how we met Rose,” Eleisha said. “She’s the one who started all this.”
Simone pulled her knees beneath herself and smoothed her dress. Eleisha told her about the letters Rose sent, about buying the church, about going to San Francisco and meeting Rose, and then about being presented with the daunting figure of Robert Brighton, a soldier from the court of Henry VIII.
“He was five hundred years old,” Eleisha said with some difficulty. It still hurt to talk about him . . . to think about him.
“Five hundred?”
“Our kind once lived all over the countrie
s of Europe,” she pushed on. “They had attachments to one another and existed among humans by always practicing the first law . . . what Philip tried teaching you last night. Vampires are latent telepaths, and they all learned to replace the memories of their victims and feed without killing. Robert taught me the laws, but then . . . Julian caught us before we reached Portland, and he took Robert’s head.” She paused, closing her eyes for a moment, trying not to see Robert’s body lying on the sidewalk. “How much did Maggie tell you about Julian?”
“Just that he was mad, and we could never visit Paris or London because he might find out about me.”
This seemed a somewhat shallow response.
“He’s not mad in the sense that he has no ability to reason,” Eleisha said. “It’s just that he’s not telepathic, and so he can’t follow the first law. He was afraid the others like Robert, the elders, would turn against him. Now, I’m not sure what he wants. But I think he sent some kind of servants after us when we were trying to go home, and then he killed Robert himself.”
“Servants?”
“Yes, a slender, dark-haired vampire and a ghost . . . a girl with magenta hair. But don’t worry. If you choose to come with us, Philip and I can get you home.”
Simone smiled. “I believe you.”
Eleisha didn’t smile back, but she felt the first real spark of hope.
Sitting on the floor, surrounded by books, Simone absorbed every word Eleisha said, and the way to Eleisha’s heart spilled out like a magic elixir.
Simone could hardly believe it.
No wonder Philip fed like a starving man cut loose from his chains.
Eleisha was a zealot. She wanted converts.
She’d become obsessed with some long-dead code created by vampires who’d existed hundreds of years ago. Maybe Julian wasn’t so bad. Maybe he’d done them all a favor. From what Simone could follow, Eleisha’s goal was to find vampires hiding from Julian, bring them back to Portland, protect them, and then teach them how to feed on mortals without killing anyone.
Astonishing.
Ridiculous.
Unnatural.
But . . . Eleisha had just poured out her dreams and hopes. All Simone had to do now was prove that she was willing to try. This would win Eleisha’s trust, and then Simone just needed to keep her away from Philip until morning.
Simone looked down at the carpet. “Before I have to see Philip again,” she said, “I want a better idea of what he was trying to teach me last night. He thought I was hopeless . . . and then everything went wrong.”
“What happened?” Eleisha asked.
Simone shook her head. “I just want you to show me. I know it will be better if you show me how yourself.”
“No, it’s too soon. You need a better grasp of your telepathy first, so you can at least observe what I’m doing by slipping inside my head.”
A thrill passed through Simone. “Telepathy? You could teach me how you send and read thoughts like you do?”
Eleisha sat back. “Well . . . Didn’t Philip explain that before he took you hunting?”
Warning lights went off in Simone’s head, and she realized she was giving away too much. “He’s not very good at expressing himself.”
“Oh, that’s true.”
“Can you teach me?”
Eleisha looked uncertain, but then she leaned forward again. “I wanted to give this a few more nights, but maybe he was right to start so soon.” She paused. “Just relax and use your thoughts to reach into my mind.”
Excitement building, Simone closed her eyes.
Can you hear me?
Eleisha’s voice seemed to speak inside her own thoughts. This was unbelievable. A whole new world of power.
Yes, she answered. I can hear you.
Let me show you the churchyard.
A picture flashed onto Simone’s eyelids of a tall wrought-iron fence, with lilacs and roses blooming all around an aging brick church. She saw a headstone and a young bush of white roses. The headstone read, ROBERT BRIGHTON, PROTECTOR, 1491 TO 2008.
The surreal quality of all this made her dizzy. All this time, she’d had this power inside of her and had never known it.
Eleisha’s thoughts lingered on the headstone.
“Okay, now try to push me out,” Eleisha said aloud. “Just try to block me. You can’t control your power properly until you can block.”
Simone began to try.
chapter 13
Shortly after sunset, Wade tried calling Eleisha first, and then Philip. Neither one answered. He sat on his desk, holding the phone tightly.
As yet, Seamus had not materialized, and Rose was pacing in the office.
Wade looked over at her and shook his head.
It wasn’t like Eleisha to leave him hanging . . . or maybe it was. In all the time he’d known her, they’d never been separated quite like this.
“We need to do something,” Rose said. Her face was tightly drawn. She hadn’t bothered getting dressed yet and still wore her silk bathrobe. “You heard her voice. She sounded near the edge of despair. I couldn’t stand it.”
Wade sighed, all his instincts telling him to get on a plane. But he knew that would be the wrong choice for several reasons.
“The best we can do for now is to stay here and wait for some word and keep trying to reach Seamus.”
“That doesn’t seem like much,” she said softly.
“I know.”
She stopped pacing. “Seamus has never vanished like this. He’s always been able to materialize even when he was exhausted.”
“We pushed him too hard . . . or he pushed himself too hard.”
Wade didn’t completely understand the metaphysics, but he knew Seamus needed to remain in limbo near Rose and let his spirit recharge from her presence.
Rose looked at the door, and then her eyes seemed to drift. “You stay here, and I’ll try downstairs in the kitchen. That’s his favorite room.”
“I don’t think that will make a difference.”
“Let me try.”
She walked out abruptly, leaving him sitting there on the desk.
Rose slowed when she reached the staircase, waffling back and forth in indecision. She knew Seamus would not answer from the kitchen either, not until he had rested longer. He had gone beyond his limits.
She would not try to call him again just yet.
But she stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning her head down the hallway toward Eleisha’s room.
They knew almost nothing about Simone, and now Philip and Eleisha were separated in a strange city dealing with this child of Maggie’s. Upstairs in the office, it occurred to Rose that if she only knew more about Simone—anything more—she might be able to help guide Eleisha from here.
But there was only one place she could think of to learn more . . . the same place she and Eleisha had started.
Still walking slowly, Rose moved down the hall and into Eleisha’s bedroom. It was a pleasant room, painted in cream and white, slightly messy, with the lace comforter askew and a few of Philip’s shirts thrown over one chair. Several dresser drawers were still open, as if Eleisha had packed in a hurry.
Rose went to the dressing table, looking down at Maggie’s set of antique brushes and the silver mirror. Then she looked at the gloves on her hands.
A part of her was afraid to delve into these memories again. She’d felt Maggie’s pain so acutely the first time. But she couldn’t stop hearing Eleisha’s sad, frightened voice over the speakerphone, and Rose hated feeling useless.
Even before she and Eleisha ever met, they’d made great plans together for the underground. Eleisha was so unselfish, so willing to share everything, and a clear path had lain before them. But now this terror of travel kept Rose locked inside the church while Philip . . . Philip of all people, had become Eleisha’s only source of help.
What a state of events.
Rose peeled off her right glove.
She had to do something.
/> Upon waking tonight, she’d remembered a detail from the earlier vision.
Inside the memory, although Maggie had been gripping the silver brush, Simone had been holding the hand mirror. Since working with Wade, Rose’s psychometric visions were growing clearer, and she was picking up direct memories from people who had touched various objects . . . she was feeling what they had felt. She’d even seen images that occurred “around” an imbued object once the holder set it down.
She gazed down at the hand mirror. A pretty thing, etched with ivy leaves across the back.
Rose didn’t want to see any more of Simone.
But she had to.
Sitting on the floor, so she wouldn’t fall if the memories struck her too hard, she grasped the handle of the mirror.
Almost instantly, she was pulled back in time, looking out through Simone’s eyes.
“Maybe we should head over to the Showbox,” Cecil said, his voice tense. “I don’t want to just leave Maggie sitting there alone.”
Simone couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
He was thinking about Maggie?
She turned from the dressing table, still gripping the hand mirror, and tilted her head. “I thought you wanted us to be alone tonight.”
He opened his mouth and closed it again, as if he wasn’t sure what to say, and her disbelief began to grow. Was she losing him?
Impossible.
He looked nice tonight, freshly shaved, wearing a dark suit. Cecil always looked best in dark colors. Simone had never entertained an ounce of interest in any of Maggie’s lovers . . . until him, but only because Maggie had never cared for any of them . . . until him.
Cecil was different.
For one, he was an up-and-coming artist, with paintings on display in two Seattle galleries. Maggie tended to date businessmen who bought her expensive jewelry, but she hadn’t connected with Cecil for money.
Most artists treated everyone around them like unwanted baggage. They often locked themselves away and cared for nothing besides themselves and their art.
